He Stopped Loving Her Today
by DizzyDrea
Summary: The sky was somber and grey they day they laid him to rest.


Title: He Stopped Loving Her Today  
Author: DizzyDrea  
Summary: The sky was somber and grey they day they laid him to rest.  
Rating: T  
Spoilers: Chimera, Threads  
Author's Notes: This story was inspired by one of the best country songs ever recorded: _He Stopped Loving Her Today_, by George Jones. It's one of my all-time favorite songs, and with the Possum in the news lately, I was reminded once again of the song and how much I like it. I know I haven't written Stargate fic in a long time, but this fandom was the first one I thought of when I decided to write a story based on the song. I don't know if you'll need a tissue for this, but be warned: it's sad.  
Disclaimer: Stargate and all its particulars is the property of MGM, Gekko, Double Secret, Acme Shark and a lot of other people who aren't me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

The sky was somber and grey they day they laid him to rest. The turnout for the funeral was large, befitting a hero killed in the line of duty, and no one was surprised because he'd been well-liked and respected. Men and women in uniform mingled with black-clad mourners, everyone sharing stories, tears, sorrow.

His friends spoke well of him, how he'd always been dedicated to his job, how he'd been a natural for the work because of his easy, affable demeanor and keen insight. There were many people alive today that wouldn't be because of his actions, and many of them had come to the service, wanting to share the great gift he'd given them.

The overflow crowd stood silently as the flag-draped coffin was escorted down the aisle of the church. Quiet sobs echoed off the walls, their sounds almost shrill in air laden with sorrow. The coffin finally emerged into the wind-whipped daylight, the mourners silently following. The drive to the cemetery was slow, drawing onlookers as the blocks passed. Each one stopped in silent solidarity, sending prayers heavenward for the one who'd passed, and for those left behind.

Finally, the grave was in sight, and the mourners gathered in a tight circle as the flag was folded, the shots fired, and the body was lowered into the ground, one final journey before an eternal rest. No words were spoken; none were necessary as everything had already been said that could be about this man they'd all loved dearly.

A bagpiper played _Amazing Grace_, the haunting notes hanging in the damp air long after the last strains of the song had died away. One by one, the mourners disbursed, each one returning to their life and the hope of better days.

Some whispered as they walked away, mourning the loss of one still so full of life. But the whispers weren't for the way he'd died, tragic as it was in the line of duty. No, they whispered for an entirely different reason.

_He stopped loving her today_, they said. _Maybe now he'll know some peace_.

Fat drops of rain began to fall, turning the gravestones a darker grey. The cemetery was empty now, except for two figures huddled under a tree not far from the freshly turned grave. The woman, dressed in a uniform of her own, her blonde hair pulled back in a demur bun, leaned into her companion, as if taking strength from him. Finally, she glanced up to him, offering a weak smile. He squeezed her once, then stepped back, knowing he couldn't walk those last few feet with her, no matter how much he might want to.

Slowly, she approached the grave, careful not to disturb the freshly-turned earth. She reached out, carefully running her fingers over the still-sharp edges of the letters carved into the unforgiving stone.

"I'm so sorry," she said, tears falling from her eyes and mingling with the raindrops still falling gently from the sky.

After a few quiet minutes, her companion joined her, winding an arm around her waist as he tugged her away. She went reluctantly, still mourning the man she had wanted to love but couldn't.

The cemetery fell into silence once more, the rain falling softly onto the grass, washing the gravestones clean.

Most of the grave markers in this part of the cemetery were old, the lives they marked long since over. But one stood out among the rest, the new-cut testament to a life well-lived still gleaming, even as the rain continued to fall.

Peter David Shanahan  
July 2, 1965 – March 19, 2015  
_Courageous to the last._

If only the rest of the world knew.

~Finis


End file.
